Firsts
by AzureSkye23
Summary: Any friendship has its beginnings. Any story has its firsts. The friendship of the Golden Lord of Gondolin and the lonely son of Gil-Estel is no exception. NO SLASH
1. First Meeting

**This is a series of interconnected oneshots, all dealing with Elrond and Glorfindel and their "getting to know you" stage of meeting. THIS IS NOT SLASH. OK? Anyone who thinks it is, please go read Laws and Customs of the Eldar. Please? It can even be found online...  
><strong>

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><p>"Do you know him?"<p>

"Have you seen him before?"

"No, have you?"

"Who is he?"

The ellon grinned inwardly as his sharp ears picked up on the whispers. Any insular group had its gossips, whether they be Elven, Mortal or otherwise, and it appeared Lindon was no exception. He idly wondered what they would be saying when they learned who he actually was.

"Do you know who the mortal is?"

"No, but he looks like a Númenórean."

"True. He walks like a seafarer."

"From the Star Isle itself then, and not a colony?"

The ellon looked at his companion. Tall, but still shorter than most elves, dark shoulder length hair, and piercing grey eyes. He seemed to be a mortal version of the Noldor. And he was from the Star Isle, though as a Captain, he spend most of his time on the ocean.

"I've never seen hair that color."

"Its very golden."

"Some of the Sindar have that color hair."

"Very few. Most elves I saw with hair that color were Vanyar, or had Vanyarin heritage."

"When did you meet any Vanyar?"

So the attention was back on him. He eyed his golden locks. It was Vanyarin gold. His ammë had been a Vanya, and he had inherited his coloring from her. It explained the blue eyes as well. His atar had been a Noldo though, and he had always considered himself of that kindred.

"They're going to the palace."

"I wonder what business they have there?"

"Well, we'll find out."

"I wonder if…"

The ellon sighed, hoping this wouldn't be blown completely out of proportion. Then he turned with a brilliant smile to his companion. "Captain, I truly appreciate you escorting me here, but you do have your ship to see to. I will be perfectly alright."

The Man shook his head good-naturally. "The first mate is perfectly capable of seeing to the needs of the ship, My Lord. I promised your friends that I would see you safely to the court of Gil-galad, and that is what I intend to do. Your friends would probably have my head, otherwise."

The Elf Lord shook his head but said nothing. He wouldn't put it past his friends. They could be intimidating when they wanted to be. Not to mention overprotective.

The palace at Lindon was beautiful, a mixture of Noldorin and Sindarin sensibilities. It reminded him of home, a home now buried beneath the waves. He shook his head softly. It still amazed him that less than five hundred years could have such a profound impact on him, but they did.

The formal, weekly court was winding down when they arrived. The Elf was rather amazed they had arrived perfectly on time for this audience, but then, considering who sent him, perhaps not.

The Mortal and the Elf waited until it seemed everyone had finished. Then the Captain stepped forward.

"My Lord King, two weeks ago I was at my home in Adúnië, when I was approached by a group of elves from Tol Eressëa and Aman. I regularly transport passengers to and from Númenor, and they engaged me to escort one from Aman to your court here in Lindon. They assured me they had full blessings of the Valar, and I saw no reasons to disbelieve them."

That certainly caused a stir.

"And who is this traveller?" demanded Gil-galad. The golden haired ellon stepped forward.

"That would be me,," he stated, softly, but in a voice that would carry. "I am Glorfindel. Formerly of Gondolin." His eyes sought out one standing by Gil-galad, now staring at him intently.

"You look like your great-grandfather," Glorfindel said to the startled Peredhel. Then he turned back to Gil-galad.

"I assure you I am here with the permission of the Valar." He grinned, eyes lighting with humor. "I wouldn't dare leave Aman without it again. Sailing is a good deal more comfortable than walking."

The comment had a twofold reaction. The first was humor, as the remark had a wry edge, with a serious undertone. That undertone was understood by many, and it served to remind them of the stories still told about this Elf, an age and a half after the flight of the Noldor.

"I can imagine." Gil-galad said dryly. After all, his family had ended up crossing the Helcaraxë as well. "But why have the Valar granted you permission to return to Middle-earth?"

Glorfindel paused, thoughtful. "First, I had a desire to return. I had sworn an oath to protect the family of my King, and could not fulfill it on the other side of the Sundering Sea. The Valar agreed I could return if I would be willing to act as messenger. I also came of the behalf of an old friend."

Gil-galad raised an eyebrow at that. "Perhaps we should change this conversation to a more private venue then," he said. "Is anyone else who wishes an audience at this time?" When it was determined there was no one, Gil-galad arose. "Lord Glorfindel, Elrond, if you will follow me?"

They followed Gil-galad to a beautiful private garden. Glorfindel tipped his head back slightly, enjoying the sun that was about halfway between its zenith and the horizon. Catching the amused looks the other two gave him, he smiled.

"I remember when Anar rose for the first time," he commented softly. "She was glorious, even more so than Isil. In the long centuries since, I have never lost my appreciation for the light and warmth she brings."

The younger elves did not seem to know what to say to that. Finally Gil-galad spoke.

"I admit I am quite curious. All knowledge of your story on this side of the sea ends with the fall of Gondolin."

Glorfindel sighed, his eyes taking on a faraway and sad look. "What can I say? One minute I was falling and the next I was in Mandos. I was reborn approximately six hundred years after the beginning of this age. I was content for a while, enjoying the peace of the Blessed Realm, but as I learned of events that had occurred after my death, I grew discontent. I travelled to Elwing's tower, and there I found many from Doriath and Gondolin. I reforged friendships with those I had known, and many new ones, but my discontent continued to grow.

"I believe Eärendil finally asked the Valar if I would be permitted to return so I would stop driving everyone crazy. They agreed, on the condition that I act as messenger. Eärendil also asked that I protect you, Elrond, and I swore that I would." Glorfindel grinned. "So here I am, back on shores I never thought I would see again," he said lightly.

Elrond blinked, stunned. He could hardly remember his father. And yet his father had worried about him enough to send one to protect him. Deciding this train of thought would get him no where right now, he shoved it to the back corner of his mind, locking it away until he could deal with it.

Gil-galad was also slightly stunned. Not that Eärendil would want to send someone to watch over his son, he could remember well that Eärendil was concerned when he had to leave his family, and Glorfindel by all accounts had been close to the young prince of Gondolin. No, it was the fact that the Valar had been willing to send an elf back, with a message…

"What message did the Valar wish you to convey?" Gil-galad asked, almost hesitant, unsure he wanted to know.

Glorfindel grew serious again. "Darkness is rising again," he said bluntly, peering into Gil-galad's eyes. "But this is no surprise to you," he continued. He sighed. "The Valar will not intercede again. Too much was lost the last time they did. And although they did not say it, I believe they feel this is a foe we can defeat."

"That doesn't limit it much." Elrond pointed out, a small smile on his face. "You yourself have proven that we can defeat even one of the Maiar."

Glorfindel sighed. "That thought did occur to me," he admitted. "Especially when Finrod was not allowed to return as well. I thought at the time it was because he is haryon to the Noldóran, but when I was allowed to come back…" He shrugged. "Regardless, that is mere speculation at this point."

"Finrod has been reborn?" Gil-galad said, startled. Glorfindel nodded. "Alone out of the house of Finwë, he has been released from Mandos."

Gil-galad sighed, running a hand though his braided locks. "Well, Glorfindel, you have given us much to think on. Perhaps you would care for a tour of Lindon?" At Glorfindel's agreement, Elrond offered to accompany him. Gil-galad watched them go, musing on all he had learned. Then he grinned. What _were_ the gossips going to say about this one?

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><p><strong>I'm not going to stick to a set update schedule for these. It will be whenever the muse (or writer's block) strikes. <strong>


	2. First Oath

Glorfindel looked up as Elrond walked into the lesser library, reading a scroll and muttering to himself. Deftly he reached out and stopped Elrond before he could walk into the corner of a desk. Grey eyes met amused blue, and Elrond grinned sheepishly.

"I always seem to run into that corner," he admitted. The golden lord of Gondolin shook his head in mock disappointment. Elrond studied him surreptitiously. Even a few weeks after his arrival he didn't know what to make of this reborn warrior. His skills as a warrior were legendary, and he had more than proved there accuracy the first time he'd accompanied Elrond and Gil-galad to the training fields.

His personality had been an entirely different matter. All Elrond, or anyone really, had expected was a consummate warrior, tough and proud. Glorfindel was not. Easy and gracious, with a quick wit and a sense of humor that often was at the expense of himself, the ellon simply glowed. Literally, at times, when the light of the Two Trees could still be seen reflected in his eyes.

In all, it served to confuse the oftentimes shy Peredhel. Though he did not doubt the Elf Lord's sincerity, he often wondered why he was on these shores. Was it really he just saw Elrond as the great-grandson of his king, and felt duty bound to guard him? Or was it a favor to his father, whom he was rather close to by Glorfindel's own admission?

"So what holds your thoughts so deeply that you ignore desk corners?" Glorfindel asked. Elrond mentally shook himself.

"Disputes involving conflicting oaths," he said. "We are having problem solving them, for is no easy solution. One oath must be broken to fulfill another, there is no other way."

"Oaths are dangerous things." Glorfindel mused. Elrond raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"Speaking from personal experience?" he asked dryly. Glorfindel gave a half smile.

"I was there when Fëanor and his sons made that dreadful oath," he said, almost simply. "It changed the course of history, and the course of my own life. If we had never returned to Endorë…" he shrugged. "I became who I am now because of that oath. Of course, I would not have returned if it had not been for my oath to Turgon, either.

"When I became a Lord of Gondolin, oaths were again sworn. I swore to protect my king, his line, and my city. My house was primarily composed of warriors, and I held command of a third of Gondolin's armies. That oath led me to the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, and eventually to my own death." He paused, thoughtful. Elrond was silent, intent on learning as much as Glorfindel was willing to share.

"And yet, I don't regret it," he continued after a moment. "If I had a choice, I think I would do it all again. Life in Gondolin forever changed me, down to my name. Even in Aman, I prefer to be called Glorfindel, rather then Laurefindil. I am different from the scared ellon that left Aman with the sound of the Doom echoing in my ears.

"It was hard for many of the Noldor who returned." Glorfindel confided to Elrond. "Many of the families torn apart expected when their kin finally were allowed to return that all would be the same as it was. And yet those who left had changed.

"The reborn had it slightly easier, the prevailing attitude was that death was some unaccountable and mystical change." The ellon shrugged. "It is not. I am much the same as I was before my death. Wiser, and more patient perhaps, with a better understanding of the Song and our role in it, but not different. I do not regret it." He stopped, wisdom born of experience in his eyes.

"Why did you come back?" Elrond asked suddenly. "You had earned your rest. You could have stayed in the Blessed Realm in peace. Why did you return to these war wracked shores?" Glorfindel smiled wryly.

"Oaths again," he said. "I had felt that I fulfilled my oath to Turgon when I defended Idril, Tuor, and Eärendil on Cirith Thoronath. I entered the Halls of Mandos with that knowledge, not regretting my death, if meant that they could live. That...contentment, if you will, lasted for a long time, even after my rebirth." He paused.

"What changed?" Elrond asked, even more curious now. Glorfindel exhaled, looking down.

"I learned about the Havens of Sirion," he said softly. "I learned that I _hadn't_ kept my oath, that when the line of my King needed me, I was not there. I had failed, even in what is considered my greatest triumph." He gave a self-deprecating smile. "I realize it's irrational, and I think I confused the Valar themselves when I tried to explain it, but it was how I truly felt. Even Eärendil could not convince me otherwise." He grinned.

"At this point, I was living at Elwing's tower, and I do believe I was driving everyone to distraction. Eärendil finally asked the Valar if I could return to Middle Earth to watch over his family, in his stead, as he hadn't been allowed to return. We were both shocked when they agreed. I swore to Eärendil that I would watch over you, and any family you may one day have." Glorfindel shrugged. "So here I am."

"So you came as a favor to my adar." Elrond stated.

"I did," Glorfindel said. "However...Your enemies shall be my enemies, your need my need, and whatever threat, assault, or evil may come upon you I shall defend you to the utmost end of my strength. This oath shall stand in the keeping of those who sit upon the thrones of the West, and the One who is above all thrones forever," he paused, then added, "I shall follow wherever you lead, My Lord." With that surprising move, he bowed gracefully and left, leaving Elrond simultaneously more confused, and yet more understanding of the warrior lord who had just sworn himself to his service.

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><p><strong> I think this is my least favorite chapter I have planned. Still, its an important part of the story. For the curious, Glorfindel's oath is drawn from the oaths of Eorl and Cirion. So, it's Tolkien's too. ;)<strong>


	3. First Inconvenience

**Yay, its finished! Um, yeah, sorry for the long wait. But finally, I was able to finish this chapter, and the next one is already done, so it shouldn't take to long! (The next chapter is really short, but hey, the next three after this one are all in a row, so I don't feel too bad about it.) **

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><p>First Inconvenience<p>

It had started the first time they went camping. It was called 'training' but it ended up as a way for Gil-galad to shed the trappings and formality of court. Occasionally, he would invite members of the court he wished to learn more about. So it was only natural that a few months after Glorfindel had arrived in Lindon that Gil-galad would invite him and Elrond along.

They still had to take guards along of course. Gil-galad _was_ still High King, and some precautions had to be taken. But the guards chosen had served along side Gil-galad in the War of Wrath, and knew and respected the informality rule.

The day had gone well. Glorfindel had quickly picked up that Gil-galad wished for informality, and had managed to comply while still retaining a respectful demeanor. The skill and ease with which he did so hinted at long practice.

Ironically, while Gil-galad began to understand this Reborn he had barely had time to talk to, Elrond, who had spend much more time with him, still had no idea what to make of him. The self-assured grace of the golden haired elf contrasted sharply with the reserved wariness of the Peredhel.

Of course, Gil-galad noted to himself, Elrond had good reason for that wariness. Loosing first father and mother, then growing up and coming to love elves that most hated, then loosing his twin to the fate of Men, Elrond had seemed to determine that the best way not to be hurt was to not let anyone close. Those whom he let himself care and be cared by included only Gil-galad himself and Círdan. It certainly wasn't healthy for the young Peredhel, and Gil-galad hoped that Glorfindel could help.

Still, he wasn't certain. Glorfindel could come off to the untrained eye as emotionally shallow, although Gil-galad was fairly certain that the opposite was true. Glorfindel's emotions ran deep, but in the depths was serenity, a certainty about himself and his place in the world, so that only the very top was stirred by people and events. Could he relate to the emotionally troubled Elrond?

The group had managed to bring down a few deer, enough to supply them for the few days they would be away from Lindon. Glorfindel was no where near as proficient with a bow as he was with a sword. Still, he was an adequate hunter, and really, could beat anyone he wished to while sparring.

Gil-galad lay there, grinning to himself at the memory of Glorfindel taking down the insufferable weapon's master. The ellon thought he was Eönwë, really, and had a supercilious attitude towards everyone. He was also remarkable skilled with a sword. Glorfindel had disarmed him in two minutes flat, using a trick that he had indifferently stated he had learned from the Maiar. Gil-galad's grin widened. He had thought the weapon's master was going to explode.

His rather amusing thoughts were cut short, as a soft, warm weight landed on his shoulder. He force himself not to jump, then cautiously turned his head to the side. He blinked. The view didn't change. He wasn't hallucinating.

He shook his head softly. No one would believe this. The Lord Glorfindel, reborn elf lord, Balrog-slayer, who had returned to Middle-earth by the grace of the Valar, _cuddled._

There was no other word for it. His head was on Gil-galad's shoulder, and had one hand resting lightly his elbow. Gil-galad began to grin. This was going to be wonderful teasing material…His thoughts trailed off, as Glorfindel's position began to trigger something in his memory.

Suddenly compassion, empathy, and a thousand other emotions he couldn't identify swept over him as he remembered doing the same thing. It had been when he had first arrived in the Falas as an elfling. He had often woken up next to Círdan, curled up into him, subconsciously trying to reassure himself he wasn't alone.

Gil-galad looked at Glorfindel again, understanding now. It was said that a fëa was instinctively solitary. Companionship would indicate he was alive, and he subconsciously sought reassurance he was no longer dead.

Gil-galad no longer doubted that Glorfindel could reach the solitary Elrond. He didn't know how, or when, but someday Elrond would be able to see what Gil-galad had just seen. Maybe then he would understand.

The next night, Gil-galad subtly positioned everyone that if Glorfindel repeated himself, he would be next to Elrond. He wasn't disappointed. About an hour after Glorfindel had fallen asleep, he quietly rolled onto Elrond's shoulder. Unfortunately, Gil-galad had forgotten one very important fact.

Elrond did not do touch. Perhaps it was from loosing his parents too young, or not getting enough hugs as a child, or for some darker reason (Gil-galad had no reason to believe Maglor or Maedhros had ever harmed the two Peredhil, but he could not say the same about their followers, after all, look what had happened to Eluréd and Elurín) but Elrond did not enjoy being touched.

So, after a rather uncomfortable night, Elrond spent the rest of the trip trying to avoid ending up as a pillow. Gil-galad finally took pity on him, and gave up. On the last night of the trip, as he lay on his back, Glorfindel already curled into his shoulder, he looked up and found Gil-Estel. 'I hope you know what you have done to your son,' he thought, with uncharacteristic anger. Then he sighed. 'I know you did what you had to. I hope he can understand someday why you sent Glorfindel back,' he thought, watching Eärendil sailing the skies above.

Elrond eventually found the best way to avoid becoming Glorfindel's pillow was to imitate his Sindarin kin, and to sleep in a tree. It wasn't until the War of the Last Alliance, after watching Glorfindel be physically ill from facing his memories while trying to aid some of the burn victims, that he would understand. Then, he just resigned himself to waking up with golden hair in his face.

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><p><strong>Alright, quick overview for those who aren't familiar with the Silmarillion. <strong>

**Eönwë is a Maia, and said to be the "greatest with arms in Arda." **

**Elrond's twin brother Elros founded Númenor, and is Aragorn's many great-grandfather.**

**Eluréd and Elurín were Elrond's mother's younger brothers, they were left in the woods to starve by the servants of Celegorm.**

**Celegorm is the younger brother of Maedhros and Maglor. Trying to explain their backstory would take more space than I have, because, that's basically what the Silmarillion is. Anything else you are confused about, feel free to PM me. :)**


	4. First Argument

**This is called a stylistic experiment. If it bugs you, don't worry, chapters 6-9 will be normal. **

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><p>First Argument<p>

"You cannot be serious, Elrond!"

"We were sent to protect and reinforce Eregion. I will not return to my King to tell him we failed!"

"We have already failed! Eregion has fallen, Celebrimbor taken along with what remains of his craft. He may stay silent as to where he delivered the Three, but it will be at the cost of his life!"

"All the more reason to attack."

"All the more reason to save what we can!"

"I would hate to accuse you of cowardice, but that seems to be what I'm hearing from you, Glorfindel."

"Is it cowardice, Elrond, to wish to see those you care about safe? To wish you could reverse time and rescind the foolish acts of bravery that cost so many lives? I remember both the Nirnaeth Arnodiad and the fall of Gondolin. Maybe if pride had been put aside, vengeance forsworn, more would have lived."

"My Lords! My Lords, the enemy advances."

"Is there something else, young one?"

"My Lords…They come with Celebrimbor's body as a banner."

"I see. Go rouse the troops. We must be prepared to meet them."

"You still intend to attack."

"I do thank you for not arguing in front of the rather young, and already scared, messenger, but yes. I will not simply flee!"

"There is no shame if fleeing if you save lives in doing so Elrond! You would not be here if that were the case!"

"I am well aware of my heritage Glorfindel. You are free to flee if you wish, but I am not leaving without one last attempt!"

"Walk away from me if you wish, Peredhel. Curse the stubbornness of the House of Finwë! Will they never learn that all it does is lead to their deaths!"

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><p>"My Lord, the Lord Glorfindel approaches."<p>

"Thank you. You may return to your post."

"Yes, My Lord."

"So you're not running."

"I swore an oath to both your father and Lord Manwë to protect you, Eärendilion. I don't break my oaths."

There was really nothing to say to that.

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><p><strong>I know. I know. It's short. My apologies. However, the next one and the one after that are all right next to each other chronologically, so I don't feel too bad. You'll find out what happens next. As soon as I get around to writing it...<strong>


	5. First Protection

**Again, its me playing with style, though very differently than the last one. And Gwedhiel0117-Its early. Just for you. ;) And I'm still planning to get Chapter 6 out by Thanksgiving. **

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><p>First Protection<p>

He was dead.

There was no way he was going to survive this. Trapped, surrounded, cut off…

Elrond swung his blade up and parried a blow from a rather heavy orc scimitar. Ten to one were never good odds, and backed into a corner as he was, it was worse.

Parry, thrust, sidestep, wall-

Yes, he was going to die.

He should have listened to Glorfindel. But no, he had displayed the stubborn pride that had killed most of his kin, and had done what he wished. He wondered if it was all to blame on his parentage, or if being raised by Maglor and Maedhros had anything to do with it.

Thrust, parry, parry, duck!

He glanced around. His only hope seemed to be attack, and if he was going to die, he was going to take some of them with him.

Thrust, parry, clang!

It was only a minor mistake, but it had cost him his sword. The orcs smirked. He was truly dead now.

Elrond drew himself up, glaring at the orcs. He was heir of Gondolin and Doriath, and by the Valar, he would *not* show them how afraid he was.

And then the battle cry of Gondolin rang out.

He knew it of course, he had even heard it occasionally in the War of Wrath. Elrond's head snapped to the side, watching as a golden blur ran a sword through the orc that was about to take the Peredhel's head off. Elrond didn't hesitate, but immediately moved to where his sword had fallen, reclaiming it. Not that he needed it at the moment though.

Glorfindel was scary, Elrond decided. He had seen the elf lord spar before, moving with a cool grace that spoke to long experience and exceptional skill. But he had never seen him in battle before. The grace was still there, but the power and intensity and _pride_ reminded anyone watching that this was an elf who had managed to slay a Balrog. He had no intention of loosing to any lesser foe. Fey and dangerous, there was no fear or doubt in his heart. It was no wonder the orcs were fleeing from him.

Moving through the ruins of what had once been the jewel of fair Eregion following Glorfindel, Elrond realized exactly what a disaster this had turned into. They constantly encountered small groups fighting desperately. Glorfindel, closely followed by Elrond, threw themselves into fight after fight, gathering a small group around them as they continued deeper into the city. Glorfindel seemed to have a destination in mind.

Moving as swiftly as they could, they found themselves suprised as they entered a market square. A small elven force was there, desperately defending themselves against a troop of orcs and a troll. The troll was going after the elf who seemed to be leading the small party. He was the only one who was mounted, and fought to maintain control of his horse as well as combat the troll.

Elrond recognized the rider's silver hair. It was Celeborn. Almost before he had finished assessing the scene, Glorfindel was gone from his side. Elrond quickly took the small force at his back to reinforce the group fighting the orcs, but Glorfindel went straight for the largest threat. Moving swiftly around the troll, he drove his sword through the monster's heel, severing the tendon. The troll screamed and stumbled and, ignoring Celeborn, went after the creature that had hurt it.

That proved to be a mistake. Celeborn brought his horse under control, and moving in slashed it across the stomach. Screaming again, it jerked back, but unable to control it's injured leg, it fell backwards, nearly crushing Glorfindel. He quickly rolled aside, and brought his sword down on the troll's wrist, severing it's sword hand. It jerked away from Glorfindel, turning on its side, right into Celeborn's sword. He had ridden around to the monster's left side, and drove his sword into the monster's throat.

With the troll dead, Glorfindel and Celeborn joined Elrond, who along with the other warriors, had killed or scattered the orcs, allowing them a brief reprieve. Quickly Celeborn explained that Sauron had regrouped his forces, and had forced Celeborn and his forces to retreat.

Elrond looked around, and jumped atop a wall to get a better view. What he saw made him wince. Sauron's forces were driving their way towards his current position. Celeborn's forces had been decimated; Elrond's were scattered, being hunted in small numbers. It was useless. Jumping back down, he gave the order to retreat.

They began to cut their way out of the city. Along the way, they ran into the force Glorfindel had originally been fighting with, before he'd realized his lord had gone missing, and he gratefully regained his horse. Gathering small groups as they continued, they eventually made it out of the city. There they turned, giving others time to reach them. Finally, out of options, drastically reduced in numbers, they turned, and began the hasty retreat north.

Elrond worried they were going to be pursued longer than his tired and wounded forces could take, but when they were about seven miles away from Ost-in-Edhil, Sauron's forces turned east. From where he was riding behind Celeborn, Elrond could see they had engaged another force. Mentally blessing them, whomever they were, he turned back and surveyed his own troops. They would have to keep going a while more, but they could slow the pace slightly, and hopefully arrive at a defensible location before nightfall to treat the wounded.

His eyes sought out the mounted figure of Glorfindel, hair still instantly recognizable despite its being covered in blood and grime. He was protecting the rear, as he always seemed to do. Elrond sighed.

"I'm going to have to have a long talk with him and apologize," he whispered, nearly inaudibly.

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><p><strong>So can anyone spot the irony? I'll give you a hint, figure out how I wrote chapters 4 and 5, and then read the last lines of both. Anyone who can tell me gets a virtual cookie. <strong>


	6. First Healing

**Well, here it is, the infamous chapter 6. Its the longest chapter to date. And it's early. Again, its all your fault Gwedhiel0117. Your glowing review of chapter 5 inspired me to finish this. **

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><p>First Healing<p>

Elrond dismounted from where he was riding pillion with Celeborn and looked around. _So __many __gone._ His heart clenched. "I shouldn't have attacked," he whispered, grief and guilt equally in his voice. Celeborn glanced at him compassionately at him as he dismounted also.

"You couldn't have known, Elrond." Celeborn said gently. "Everything looked in favor of attacking." His words, meant to comfort, only increased Elrond's guilt.

"Glorfindel counseled me not to," Elrond said, guilt now the dominate emotion in his voice. "I didn't listen." Not only that, he thought gloomily, he had gravely insulted him. Why hadn't he paid attention? How could he have forgotten that the golden haired elf lord had been leading armies before his _grandfather_ had been born?

"Elrond," Celeborn said, now slightly stern. "Glorfindel is a wise elf. He knows the burden of command. While he is an experienced counselor, the ultimate decision rested with you. He understands that."

"It wasn't just that, Celeborn." Elrond said, slightly pleading eyes now meeting Celeborn's. "I…I let my temper take control of my reasoning," His head dropped. "He has every right to be angry with me." Elrond raised his head again. "He saved my life, Celeborn. I was cut off and surrounded. I knew I was dead. But…" here his eyes sought out the golden hair of his sworn protector. "But then he was there."

Glorfindel was dismounting, fingers wound tightly in his horse's mane. Elrond narrowed his eyes, ignoring Celeborn, as Glorfindel began to sway, keeping a strong grip on the mane of his horse. His vigilance was well rewarded a few seconds later, as Elrond was able to catch Glorfindel before he hit the ground unconscious.

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><p>Healing was by nature private. It was why so many healers, especially mortals, took oaths to keep what they learned about a patient confidential. Elrond refused to make such an oath, though he kept his silence anyway. He had seen too much of the damage Oaths could do.<p>

But healing, as personal as it was, also required detachment. And that was what was going to make this so hard, Elrond thought, as he frantically began stripping the layers of Glorfindel's armor off. After all, this was his fault. All his fault. All. His. Fault.

Elrond stopped, and took a deep breath. Yes, it was his fault. And healing was the only way to atone for it. With that thought locked firmly in him mind, pushing all else away, he began assessing the Elf-lord's injuries.

Immediately noticeable was the large, dark bruise on his left side. Elrond scowled at it, and gently laid a hand on it. The ribs were definitely cracked. Elrond shook his head. How had Glorfindel been able to ride all the way here, especially without any form of pain medication? And when had this injury occurred? It looked as if he had received a blow by a sword or a mace, and been protected from further injury by his mail.

Thankfully, that seemed to be the worst injury. There were two cuts that would need suturing, a deep gash to the right thigh, and a long slash along his forearm. There were also enough scrapes, small cuts, and bruises to last a mortal lifetime, but Elrond wasn't very concerned with them. They would heal on their own in a few days.

Quickly wrapping the cut to the forearm to slow the bleeding, he turned his attention to the gash in the thigh. Quickly grabbing the supplies he needed, he began to clean, treat, and stitch the deep gash. Thankfully, it had missed the major blood vessels. Still, it took some time to take care of.

Some undeterminably time later, Elrond finally finished cleaning the last of the small cuts that were any warrior's lot. Surveying his work, he shook his head. He still wondered when the blow to the side had occurred. He had been next to the golden haired warrior almost constantly after Glorfindel had come to his aid, and had not seen anything that would have caused this. That meant that the elf lord had most likely sustained the injuries before he had saved Elrond.

Which also meant he had rescued him from overwhelming odds, fought numerous other skirmishes, killed a troll, cut his way out of the city, fought at Elrond's side as they held the enemy at bay there, and then ridden until nightfall; all with broken ribs. Elrond wondered how that was even possible. But then, _possible_ didn't even seem to apply to the Balrog slayer who had managed to survive his own death.

Elrond sighed, and pulled a blanket over his protector's unconscious form. How had he messed up so badly? Out of all his choices that had gone wrong today, the fact that Glorfindel lay unconscious before him seemed the worst. It was simply _wrong_, Elrond decided. Glorfindel was the best warrior he knew, if he ignored his rather brief acquaintance with Eönwë. The fact that he was uninjured simply made it worse. He wouldn't even be alive if it weren't for Glorfindel.

He was drawn out of rather depressing thoughts as Glorfindel began to stir. Quickly, he grabbed the waterskin lying next to him, and helped the elf lord drink. Seeing the pain etched on Glorfindel's features, he followed the water with a pain draught. Broken ribs were extremely painful; Elrond was going to have to keep a close eye on him to make sure he gave Glorfindel more when he needed it.

"Elrond," the golden haired elf murmured.

"Yes?" Elrond replied. "Are you alright? What do you need?"

Glorfindel ignored the questions.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, opening blue eyes darkened by pain. Elrond was stunned into silence. Of all the things he had expected Glorfindel to say, this had been the farthest from his mind.

"Sorry for what?" Elrond finally said softly. "I was the one at fault, and you saved my life. You have nothing to apologize for."

"I told you I was only following you because of my oaths. I told you I was there merely for the sake of your father. That was unfair to you." Glorfindel said, softly, but remarkably emphatic for someone two steps away from unconsciousness.

"Glorfindel…" Elrond trailed off.

"Don't misunderstand me. I would have done it just for those reasons. But I didn't. I would have done what I did simply because you are my lord. But I have lost too many friends, Elrond. I could not stand by and loose another. I swore that I would protect you to the utmost ends of my strength, and to that I hold," he paused, and a small mischievous twinkle crept into his eyes. "Besides, I swore by the Valar and the One, and you and I both know how hard those Oaths are to get out of."

Elrond had to smile. No one else joked about his childhood. Everyone treated it like a taboo subject; that he would break down if they mentioned it. Glorfindel's teasing had the mark of acceptance. Elrond knew Glorfindel disliked the Fëanorionnath, but that was mainly because they had killed those he had died to protect. However, he was grateful to Maglor for caring for Elrond and Elros when he hadn't been there to do so. Mostly, Glorfindel accepted that Elrond still cared for his foster father, and never made him feel guilty for doing so.

Glorfindel broke into Elrond's thoughts as he reached out and weakly grasped the half-elf's hand.

"I shall follow wherever you lead, my friend," he murmured, eyes and tone completely serious. The light of Valinor still shone from his eyes, an utter sincerity radiating from eyes that had seen things no one else on these shores had. A sincerity that never died, even when the medicine finally took effect, and he sank back into unconsciousness.

Elrond stared at the wounded elf lord, tears beginning to form in his eyes, astounded by the depth of loyalty shown. Everyone had left him. His father had left him to seek the Blessed Realm. His mother had left him to protect the Silmaril. Maglor had always been torn between his love for the Peredhil twins and his Oath, and in the end the Oath won. His brother had chosen a fate that would sunder them until the end of Arda, and perhaps beyond. Gil-galad had tried, but he was Elrond's king, and that always stood between them.

Everyone had left. And yet when he had tried to drive Glorfindel off, to prove to himself that he couldn't trust anyone could stay, Glorfindel had refused to leave. He had instead shown that stubborn loyalty that had lead to his death in the first place. He had shown that he cared for Elrond, just as much as he had Elrond's father and grandparents.

His father…It had been Eärendil who had sent Glorfindel back. Had championed his cause to the Valar. He knew Glorfindel's incredible loyalty; it was only because of the elf lord he and his parents had survived the fall of Gondolin. And he had asked his protector to return to Middle-earth to protect his son.

Elrond turned his face to the heavens, tears beginning to fall. Where...? Ah, there was Gil-Estel, the star that was his father. The star he'd spent hours staring at, wondering if his father was watching. Wondering if he cared.

"Thank you," he mouthed silently.

And the Silmaril blazed.

Elrond watched, awed, as the normally steady light of his father's star doubled, tripled, quadrupled; then faded back to normal. His father was watching. He cared. Though separated by fate and a sundering sea; though he would not be able to reunite with his son until Elrond sailed West, he did what he could. Elrond was finally able to believe that Eärendil loved him, something he hadn't been able to do for a long time.

Elrond closed his eyes, tears still streaking down his face, as the wounds of loss and abandonment, long hidden in his heart, finally began to heal.

* * *

><p><strong>Alright, I think this is where I have to explain myself. Generally I do this at the end of a story; However, despite the fact there are three more chapters to this, I think this needs to be said here.<strong>

**The final scene of this chapter was the inspiration to this fic. I'd always known I wanted Glorfindel to show up in Lindon with a random Númenórean, but that was completely unrelated. I knew, that with Elrond's past, he has abandonment issues. That would be impossible to avoid. I knew that Glorfindel would be instrumental in helping with that, but I also knew Eärendil would have to be involved somehow.**

**And then I read Mirach's wonderful works on Eärendil. In them, Eärendil wishes he could influence events in Middle-earth, but all he has is his Light. This swirled around in my brain, until my subconscious kindly supplied my muse with the image of Elrond looking up, thanking his father for sending Glorfindel back, and the Silmaril just *blazing* in response. And so, this was born. **

**(BTW-my mental image of a Silmaril is burning magnesium. My chemistry teacher did it, and my first reaction was 'It's a Silmaril!' My next was 'I am such a geek.')**


	7. First Festival

**Alright, I know, it's been awhile. And its short. But hey, I have the last two chapters done as well, so expect chapter 8 Friday, and Chapter 9 next Monday. :)**

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><p>First Festival<p>

Because Imladris was originally a military outpost, it didn't usually celebrate festivals with a large amount of revelry. But this year, Elrond was hosting a certain Princess of the Noldor, her Sindarin husband who was a former Prince of Doriath, and (most importantly to Elrond) their silver haired daughter.

Normally, Glorfindel would have teased Elrond mercilessly about his sudden fascination with Celebrían. But as Midsummer and its planned revelry grew ever closer, Glorfindel had become increasingly withdrawn. It became even more pronounced when he came upon Elrond and Celebrían talking together, and was compounded by the fact he was being stalked by one of Celebrían's maids. All in all, it made for a very irritable and ready-to-snap Glorfindel.

The nights plans had gone flawlessly, something Elrond had to attribute to Erestor, a young refuge from Ost-in-Edhil, who had a knack for organization. In fact, Elrond was coming to rely on him heavily as Imladris grew from a military camp to a settled community to see that everything ran smoothly.

But tonight, Elrond had more plans than simply being a gracious host. Plans that centered on a certain silver haired elleth. The problem was, that elleth who was so determinately stalking Glorfindel, was also zealously guarding what she perceived as Celebrían's honor. Which left Elrond trying to convince Glorfindel to distract said elleth.

It wasn't working.

"Elrond, I don't care how much you like Celebrían, I am not flirting with that elleth!" Glorfindel snapped. Elrond narrowed his eyes. This was not like the normally imperturbable elf lord, who would generally find something like this amusing.

"Glorfindel, may I speak to you in private?" Elrond asked, and before Glorfindel could respond, dragged him into a secluded corner of the gardens.

"Glorfindel, what is the matter?" Elrond asked in a harsh whisper. "You have been acting like a warg with a head cold recently. What is bothering you?"

The bristling Glorfindel seemed to deflate, sitting down on a bench placed next to the bole of a tree, leaning his head back and sighing.

"Its Midsummer," he said softly. "Celebrated by Men as the middle of summer, but astronomically the beginning of it. The Gates of Summer."

Elrond began to understand, as he sat next to his friend. "But you never reacted like this on Midsummer in Lindon," he said. Glorfindel smiled wryly.

"In Lindon, I threw myself into the very Sindarin celebrations that took place on the coast. They were unique to the area, and I could forget what had occurred on this date," he explained.

"But here…" Elrond trailed off.

"Here, Erestor-who has very Noldorin sensibilities-planned the celebrations. They are not exactly alike as the customs of Gondolin, but they are close enough that I cannot avoid it. Even the landscape is similar, for we shall watch the sunrise over the mountains. I keep catching myself glancing North, just waiting for the sky to light up; too soon, from the wrong direction," Glorfindel closed his eyes.

Elrond sat quietly, unsure what to say. "Its hasn't just been that," he finally said softly. "You always seem to become even more withdrawn whenever you see Celebrían and I together."

"I don't disapprove, if that's what you're thinking," Glorfindel said, opening his eyes again. "I think you are very cute together. In fact, you remind me of Tuor and Idril…and there is the problem."

Elrond frowned. "We look nothing like them."

"No," agreed Glorfindel, "But the way you act around each other is very similar. I'm not surprised, you are both related to them."

"I just…I miss them, Elrond. I miss my life there. I thought I had resigned myself to the fact that life ended, literally in my case. But there are times the memories come back, and I miss them all so much it hurts." Glorfindel sighed.

"And I feel guilty telling you this, because I'm making it seem like I care for nothing here, and that isn't true either. If I were suddenly able to return to Gondolin, I would miss the friends I've made here." He gave a short bark of laughter. "So now I want the best of both lives, and that isn't possible until the Remaking." He glanced down at his hands. "I'm sorry for the way I've been acting lately. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"Don't be," Elrond said firmly. "Though it sounds trite, I do understand." Glorfindel glanced over at Elrond, who gave him a wry smile. "You're not the only one who loves two things that are irreconcilable." Understanding and compassion flooded Glorfindel's face, and Elrond imitated his friend and dropped his gaze to his hands, thinking of his confusing childhood.

"Well then," Glorfindel said almost briskly. "We shall have to celebrate what we have, and trust that everything will work out eventually, even if it doesn't happen until the Remaking."

Elrond smiled at his closest friend. "Make better memories to replace the old?" he asked, offering Glorfindel a hand up. Glorfindel took it with a grin that did not quite banish the shadows in his eyes.

"Yes, lets go get you back to Celebrían," he agreed. Smiling, they walked together back to the main celebrations.

"But Elrond,"

"Yes?"

"I'm still not flirting with that elleth."


	8. First Embarrassment

**So, I really hate to be the author who begs for reviews. But chapter 7 has the highest hit and visitor number of any chapter but the first: And not a single review. I'm not going to use the most common method of getting reviews, i.e. not updating until I get a certain number of reviews, because honestly, I really hate that as a reader. But I greatly appreciate the feedback. Anyway, here's the next chapter. **

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><p>First Embarrassment<p>

He felt the fear, but strangely, it didn't touch him. It was the wraith's greatest weapon, the choking fear that took hold of all but the bravest.

'Or the most foolhardy,' he thought with a small smile. Elrond was always telling him he took too many risks, that his reckless behavior was what had gotten him killed for the first time in the first place.

He shrugged. So he was going to get another lecture for this stunt. Nothing new. Now to figure out just what was going on with the Witch-king...preferably before Eärnur got himself killed. No, his horse was smarter that he was, and was fleeing the field. The proud Prince of Gondor was not going to like that.

But the wraith…Ah. Glorfindel's smile broadened. He was _projecting_. Using his own emotions to fuel his power.

The wraith was scared of death. He had accepted a Ring to flee it, and cursed himself to a half life to avoid it. He now used it, let it spill over into the surrounding environment, creating the fog of terror few could withstand and none could ignore.

But Glorfindel knew exactly what lay beyond that shadowy realm. He had walked that path, ages ago, choosing death for himself over watching more he cared for die. He admitted to himself that he probably had been unbalanced by watching his friends die, his city fall. He had been reckless with his own life, and it had lead to his death.

But he would not have it any other way. For out of the fall of Gondolin, Morgoth's greatest victory, Hope had arisen in the West, and Morgoth's doom had been accomplished. And Glorfindel had had a part in that. He could ask for nothing more.

Of course, he had received more. He had been reborn by the grace of the Valar, and permitted to return to Middle-earth to protect the line of his King. Which had let him here, facing the Witch-king on the field of battle.

Glorfindel shook his head again. 'What tangled webs we weave,' he thought, remembering the Lady Vairë's vast looms and storied tapestries.

But that was all besides the point right now. Right now, he had a wraith to take care of. After a Balrog, it wasn't a problem.

He rode forward, his horse trusting him enough to do what Eärnur's would not. He raised his sword, challenge in his eyes and carriage.

'I passed through Shadow and Flame,' he thought at the wraith. 'And I fear neither Death nor you.'

While it was impossible for the wraith to hear Glorfindel's thoughts, it was able to do so in the clear eyes that blazed with remembered light. Shrieking in fear and defiance, the creature that had once been a man fled from the elf who shone with the light of Valinor.

Glorfindel let it go, foresight gently drifting across his senses. He did not know how the wraith would eventually be defeated, but it would not be by him, nor by the Prince of Gondor now returning to his side. Indeed, the Witch-king would not be killed by a man at all. Glorfindel frowned, as he did not get the feeling the wraith would be destroyed by an elf either. But somewhere, someday, the Witch-king would meet his doom.

Eärnur rode up to Glorfindel, and paused for a moment. With exasperation, Glorfindel noticed that the proud Prince was actually planning to follow the wraith.

"Do not pursue him!" he cautioned him. "He will not return to these lands. Far off yet is his doom, and not by the hand of man will he fall."

Eärnur turned on the elf lord, ready to argue, but Glorfindel met his gaze squarely, and either the light of the Two Trees, or the ancient memory of long ages, convinced him not to. He nodded sharply, and turned his horse, barking out orders angrily.

Glorfindel furrowed his brow, confused by the reaction. Did Eärnur really wish to fight the Witch-king so badly? It wasn't as if it was his people who had been so badly decimated by the forces of Angmar. Indeed, Eärnur had treated Aranarth and his people with obvious distain.

It was also obvious he held elves in a strange mixture of awe and contempt. Contempt, because in these days of fading, they could not muster the number of troops Gondor could. Awe, because no matter how small the elven force was, its members were deadly.

Glorfindel mentally snorted. Many elves under his command had fought in the War of the Last Alliance, and a few had been alive during the War of Wrath. They had spent many long years honing their skills to near perfection.

Eärnur had, as commander of the largest forces, tried to take overall command. It hadn't gone over well. Aranarth had been affronted, it was _his_ home and people they were fighting for. He had thankfully hid it behind diplomacy, and pointed out that his forces, though smaller in number, knew the terrain better than the Gondorians.

Glorfindel had simply refused. He had politely informed Eärnur that he knew nothing of his troops' abilities, and that he himself had more military experience than all the humans put together.

It hadn't helped matters that Glorfindel had given Aranarth precedence over Eärnur. Aranarth was the heir of Isildur, and thus the heir of Elendil and Elros Tar-Minyatur. And while Elrond, having chosen to be counted among the Firstborn, was the heir of Gondolin, Glorfindel also respected the line of his twin brother. And it was Aranarth, not Eärnur, who was heir to that line.

And Eärnur was simply hard to respect. He was proud and arrogant, with an eye to numbers rather than people. He felt that his larger force earned him respect. Glorfindel doubted he even knew all his captain's names, let alone any of the common men.

Glorfindel, on the other hand, knew not only the names of all those under his command, he knew most of them fairly well. Of course, he'd had longer to come to know them, but even Aranarth knew those who personally fought with him, and those who led the ones who did not.

But it was Eärnur's arrogance that left Glorfindel the most irritated. Really, what did the mortal have to be arrogant about? For someone know had known men like Húrin, Huor, and Tuor; and had lived at the same time as men like Barahir and Beren, Eärnur was nothing special.

And now that same arrogance left him sulking because he hadn't fought the Witch-king. Never mind that doing so would have led to his death. Glorfindel stopped as another bit of foresight danced across his mind. Eärnur would be Gondor's last king. That arrogance would lead to his downfall, because…

Glorfindel nearly groaned. Because Eärnur was _embarrassed _that he hadn't been able to face the Witch-king.

"Manwë save me from the stupidity of these mortals," Glorfindel muttered under his breath, and went to see to those under his command.

* * *

><p>It was good to be home.<p>

Glorfindel smiled slightly as he rode through the gates of Imladris. He had never thought he would call another place home after Gondolin. But, after an age, Imladris had become such.

And it was certainly good to be there.

Glorfindel was about to dismiss the elves under his command, when he noticed the dark haired form of his lord emerging from the main hall. He froze. One look at the Peredhel's face indicated he had heard of the incident with the Witch-king, and he wasn't amused.

Glorfindel cursed inwardly. He knew it was a bad idea to send advanced scouts back to Imladris to report, and inform Elrond of their pending arrival. Elrond would have demanded a full report from them. A report, that by necessity, would demand an account of what happened to the Witch-king. And even if Glorfindel's scouts had tried to keep quiet about it, (something Glorfindel doubted) Elrond would have gotten it out of them anyway. There went his plan to simply avoid Elrond for the next month until he calmed down.

Ah well. He'd faced a Balrog-and much more recently the Witch-king. He'd survive the inevitable lecture. But instead of all but dragging Glorfindel to his office, Elrond did a very surprising thing.

He moved closer, and waited for Glorfindel to acknowledge his presence. Which Glorfindel did with a graceful bow.

"My Lord," he began. Elrond cut him off.

"Were the halls of Mandos really so nice that you are desperate to go back?" Elrond demanded. Glorfindel wisely stayed silent.

"I knew you had some suicidal tendencies, Glorfindel. But when I get a report that you faced the Witch-king-by yourself! I really start to wonder."

Glorfindel sighed inaudibly. This is why he wanted to wait about a month before talking to Elrond. He was prone to over exaggeration.

"Or maybe it's just the prestige that goes to you head. Was that it? Was it a 'I'm a reborn Balrog-slayer, so I can do what I wish and nothing bad will happen? Or are you so certain that Lord Námo doesn't want to deal with you again that it's lead to a sense of invulnerability? That won't keep you from dying, Glorfindel, it will only lead to you becoming one of the houseless."

This wouldn't be to bad, Glorfindel decided. But the fact it was in front of others… This was just embarrassing. And with a sudden flash of insight, he understood.

Elrond was doing this on purpose. All the lectures he'd delivered in private had had no effect, so he was trying a more public venue. Glorfindel resisted the urge to scowl at the small gleam in his lord's eye. He didn't mean half of what he was saying. He had been worried, yes, and wished him to take more care. But he was doing _this_ simply to embarrass him.

When had the Peredhel gotten so sneaky?


	9. First Parting

**This whole updating on a schedule thing is weird. ;) Last chapter!**

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><p>First Parting<p>

"My Lord?"

The voice was soft, pitched to avoid startling him. A voice he knew as well as his own. A voice he'd known longer than his wife's, than his children's.

Elrond let go of the balustrade he'd been clutching, and turned away from the magnificent view of the ravine he'd built Imladris in, so long ago. He smiled softly, meeting the concerned blue eyes of his friend.

"Yes?" he responded to the elf lord's query. Instead of answering, Glorfindel moved beside him, staring as Elrond had just moments before over the valley.

"Its beautiful," he commented finally. "Despite the fact we chose it for military necessity, it's beautiful."

"Security and beauty do not have to be in opposition," Elrond responded. "You would know that best." Glorfindel nodded.

"I never thought I would call another place home after Gondolin," he said. "But Imladris has woven itself into heart."

"As it has in mine," Elrond responded. "Which is why I plan to sail." He sighed.

"I cannot watch it fade, Glorfindel," he continued. "Now that Vilya is fading, a part of me dies, and all that I protected with it fades as well. I cannot sit here, and watch what I love fade." He broke off, and Glorfindel knew he was talking about more than just his home.

"I've lost too much," he finally said in a whisper. "I would rather sail now, and let all that I love on these shores remain unstained in memory, than to stay and watch them fail. I cannot do that. It would destroy me."

"I never advised you not to sail," Glorfindel said. "I think you should. The time of the elves is over. You have fought valiantly, and now it is time for the last Lord of the Noldor to take ship. Your wife is waiting, as are your parents."

"Celebrían," Elrond whispered. "How can I face her; tell her that our daughter has chosen the fate of men, and our sons may do the same?"

"Tell her Arwen did so for love," Glorfindel said softly. "And I do believe Elladan and Elrohir will sail, once their siblings have passed from the circles of the world."

He hesitated, just for a moment. "And I will stay with them, and protect them," he added, softly. Elrond turned towards his oldest friend, worry clear in his grey eyes. Sail without him? Elrond couldn't imagine life anymore without the solid, comforting presence of Glorfindel at his side.

It had been long ages since the Golden Lord of Gondolin had returned to these shores. It had been nearly as long that the son of Gil-Estel had come to rely upon him, as protector, advisor, friend. And to lose that now…

"And what will you do if Elladan and Elrohir decide to follow Arwen and Estel?" Elrond asked, trying to cover his sudden anxiety. Glorfindel shrugged.

"Then I will stay until they too have passed beyond the circles of Arda, and then will sail back to the land of my birth," Glorfindel said simply. "But I do not think that will happen. They will sail, and I will bring them back to you."

He paused, meeting Elrond's troubled gaze. As always, it was as if the reborn elf lord could read his soul, understand the worry and love that lived there.

"I will follow where you lead, my brother," Glorfindel said softly, placing a hand on Elrond's shoulder.

And with that, the worry faded. Elrond smiled, looking into the clear eyes of his protector, advisor, friend, _brother_.

"I know," he said simply.

And he did.

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><p><strong>Wow, I can't believe this is over. Its an odd feeling when you post the last chapter of something... Thank you to all of my lovely reviewers. To everyone who's read this, I hope you enjoyed it! <strong>


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